"I've been meaning to ask you for awhile now, but sometime I would really love to hear about your tattoo… and your scars if you'd be willing"
Heat rushed to my cheeks and my lungs refused to work in the wake of what she just said. I'm not sure why it still surprises me when people ask about it- I really should be used to it by now- but I just stood there for what felt like hours racking my brain for a way out.
Usually, if I'm feeling as tactless as the questions some people ask, I say, "I was mauled by a lion" or "shark attack?" or "my ferocious cat scratched me…ya, I know- I don't have a cat…awkward"
If I'm feeling just the right combination of smart alec and angst, I tell them very matter of factly, "they're scars" and roll my eyes at ridiculousness of the question.
And sometimes, if I'm having a bad day and the question makes me feel shameful enough, I just look down, get exceptionally evasive and awkward, or pretend I didn't hear and walk away.
That's why I was so surprised when, through the sound of my heart thumping in my ears, I heard myself agree to talk to her about it sometime, with what I thought was a very confident sounding voice, considering it came from me.
Now that I think about it, maybe it was in the way she phrased it, like an invitation rather than a demand. She didn't ask me "what happened to your arm?" at a dinner table where everyone was staring at me, in a classroom full of nosey teenagers, or in the middle of a perfectly good conversation at a party, giving me no way out with all eyes on me. She didn't whisper or stare or laugh. She didn't give me advice on how to get rid of them. She didn't grab my arm like she owned it and ask me with more selfish curiosity than concern. And I'm pretty sure, if I said no, she wouldn't have kept demanding an answer, but would have politely dropped it.
It's sad to me that the reason I was surprised was that someone I didn't know all that well showed me respect and treated me more like a person with a story than a story with a person. Respect really shouldn't be all that surprising. But, sadly, I think because of a combination of some people's ignorance, discomfort with pain, complete lack of filter, and untimeliness, respect absolutely threw me for a loop.
Once I recovered from our short conversation and thought about my response, I realized that maybe the reason I was so surprised was also that I was changing. I had to smile to myself, because it was the first time I answered someone confidently and sincerely. I started thinking about how when I show someone my tattoo now, I don't cover up my arm and awkwardly stutter as I quickly explain what it means, so they can stop staring at my arm or how I don't spend all of my time in social interactions concentrating on where the inside of my left arm is in relation to their line of vision. I realized I am living in little more light and a little less darkness.
I'd be lying if I said that I don't still feel shame, because, truthfully, it's something I wrestle with everyday. But, I'm starting to see beauty and new life in the lines across my skin, where I once saw only brokenness and death.
So now, when her and I have that conversation, I'll take a deep breath and tell her the story of a thirteen year old girl who had no way of knowing that a single crimson line would lead her to such dark places or consume her for so long. I'll tell her about my 2 plus years of freedom and all that Jesus continues to teach me through it, even in moments when fighting is still a struggle. I'll tell her about my passion for working with girls who struggle with self harm and how Jesus is going to redeem my experiences and use them for His kingdom.
And maybe, each time someone asks me, in a way that makes me feel whole and cared for, instead of torn apart and gawked at, it will be a little easier and a little more natural to answer honestly. And maybe, every time I do, it will set other people free to talk about their own struggles.
Because really, they aren't just scars- they are stories. And written in black ink across my wrist, my tattoo reminds me that those stories are worth being told and I am worth living in complete freedom of shame and darkness, because I am delighted in by the Great I Am.
And so are you.
